


Enemies, Friends, Brothers

by TheHyperWriter



Series: Hyper's Random Team Fortress Fics (ALL OF THEM) [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Archimedes is cute, Epic Friendship, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHyperWriter/pseuds/TheHyperWriter
Summary: It’s late 1944 and World War II is nearing its end. A German field medic, just shy of his 19th birthday, is positioned at the Eastern Front with a regiment slowly dying from cold and starvation and waiting to see the end. When his entire unit is brutally wiped out by Soviet forces, he is left badly injured with worsening pneumonia.But when his life is saved by a compassionate Russian soldier, he realises that he and the enemy are not really very different.
Series: Hyper's Random Team Fortress Fics (ALL OF THEM) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020090
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	1. The Eastern Front. 1944

Ludwig found himself coughing for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day. It felt like he was being stabbed by glass shards every time he took in a breath. He tried his best to bind his fellow soldier’s bleeding arm in bandages. His hands were quivering. Perhaps from cold. The soldier he was tending to noticed and spoke up,

“Ludwig, you don’t look so well. You should sleep.”

Ludwig shook his head despite his body’s objections, “No. I’ll just finish up with you. Then I’ll be done for the night.”

When he finally went to bed, he felt his forehead as he lay down on the hard floor.

He yanked his hand away when his bare palm touched fire.

* * *

The next morning, the Russians were being particularly brutal. 

Ludwig was rushing around, pulling injured men away from the line of fire and trying to patch them up as fast as he could. Some of them noted how pale he was and said they would get another medic to tend to them but he refused outright. He was a field medic. Nothing would stop him from treating those who needed him. 

But his best efforts suddenly went to waste.

Slowly, men began to fall. They lay slumped on the cold, hard ground - dead. Shouts of triumph in Russian were growing louder as they got closer. Soon, Russian soldiers made it into the trenches, leaving countless dead Germans in their effort to clear out their trench. To Ludwig, it was all a blur as he raced through the trenches to avoid the onslaught, battling volleys of coughing fits and clutching his rifle for dear life. 

Russian was yelled after him and some bullets tore through his coat and into his flesh. He gritted his teeth and kept running, stumbling a few times in his desperation. He was sure everyone was dead. He ran until he heard nothing but the wind, huddling in a corner and bundling himself up in his long coat in a futile attempt to keep out the biting cold. He had lost his Stalhelm in his struggle to get away and knew he had at least 12 bullets embedded in him somewhere. His fever had only gotten worse and bouts of chills made him shiver violently. But he was still alive and breathing. 

For awhile, there was silence. It was almost too peaceful. 

Until the sound of heavy boots broke the silence. 

“ _ Shisse! _ ” Ludwig felt fear and adrenaline course through him again. He listened carefully to see whether there was more than one. To his relief, there seemed to be only one. However, his heart leapt into his throat in sheer terror when a lone Russian soldier rounded a corner and was heading straight for him. The Russian had to be the tallest one Ludwig had ever seen - if not the tallest person he had ever seen in his life. It didn’t help that the man looked so strong that he could probably snap Ludwig in half.

As the Russian moved closer, inspecting every corner for any survivors, Ludwig knew this was his end. He was bleeding and shaking so much from his fever and wounds that he was bound to be noticed. Silently, he began to pray. For most of his young life, Ludwig Humboldt hadn’t been a religious boy. He’d always skip mass to feed the doves who resided at the back of the chapel. But now, in the bitter cold and facing certain death, praying gave him a little comfort. 

With every step the Russian took, Ludwig chanted the Hail Mary, his dread feeling like it was giving way to acceptance of his fate.

_ “... Gegrüßet seist du Maria, voll der Gnade…” _

_ “...der Herr ist mit Dir…”  _

_ “... du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen…” _

The Russian soldier noticed him now. His pace sped up.

__

_ “... und gebenedeit ist die Frucht Deines Leibes Jesu…” _

_ “... Heilige Maria, Mutter Gottes, bitte für uns Sünder jetzt…” _

_ “... und in der Stunde…” _

He didn’t get to finish the prayer when the soldier called to him in Russian. Ludwig couldn’t understand any of it, but decided to show himself out of sheer terror. He stumbled out, dropping his rifle and putting his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. 

But the Russian didn’t kill him.

Instead, he stooped to Ludwig’s eye level and peered at him for a moment, before standing up again and speaking, this time in English,

“Little man is sick?”

For a moment, Ludwig was confused and too scared to speak. The huge Russian seemed to think that he didn’t understand and tried again,

“Does little man know English?”

Finally, Ludwig got the strength to reply,

“Yes. Yes, I… understand.”

This was followed by another coughing fit which sent him to his knees as he gasped for air. 

“Help me,  _ bitte _ …” He cried through strangled breaths. 

“Little man is sick. He cannot fight. He is too weak.” 

“Then…” Ludwig recovered slowly and straightened, “What do I do? Will you kill me?”

“No.” As if to prove it, the Russian tossed his rifle aside, “Misha does not believe in killing sick man. Even if little man is German enemy.”

“Misha, I am Ludwig.”

Before Misha could say anything else, he suddenly pushed him back, sending him tumbling to the floor. 

“Wait.” He held up a hand to silence Ludwig, who was about to protest, “Lie still. Little man must pretend he is dead.”

Still a little fearful, Ludwig complied, trying his best to slow his breathing and lying as still as he could. He heard more footsteps and Misha talking to another man in Russian. A gunshot shortly cut off their conversation and soon he heard Misha’s voice again, telling him it was alright now.

“What happened?” He asked. 

“Commander came to find Misha.” The Russian said, gesturing to the dead body of an officer on the ground near them, “Misha killed commander. Because Misha is not going to be soldier anymore.”

“What do you mean, mein freund?” Shakily, Ludwig took a seat on the ground and warmed his gloved hands with his breath. It still hurt to breathe. He coughed again, his body shuddering with each fit. His fever had appeared to have gone down, which was a relief. 

“Misha is running away. Does little man want to come?”

Ludwig stared at him in disbelief. Would any Red Army soldier ever dare to desert? It seemed impossible but here was this Misha, deserting anyway. 

“Little man will die here if he does not escape.” Misha said matter-of-factly.

Death or desertion? 

After some reckless consideration, Ludwig reckoned he’d rather betray Germany and desert than remain loyal and die. 

“Very well, then. I will follow you.” 

Misha nodded. He then picked up Ludwig with one giant arm, throwing him over his shoulder and carefully climbing out of the trench.

“Little man is too sick. Misha will carry little man for this journey.”


	2. A Sacrifice For Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop this is a long, long chapter. It may get a little draggy (I hope not).
> 
> In which Ludwig/Medic rolls a 1 on almost every Constitution save.

They walked through the snowy forest for hours and Ludwig’s cough was getting worse. His fits were getting more frequent and he had begun sneezing. He was shivering uncontrollably now and was still bleeding from bullet wounds. No matter how much he begged Misha to put him down and let him walk, the large man always refused. 

The snowfall grew fast and heavy, the frigid wind howling through the bare, massive trees. From the colour of the sky, night was already falling. Misha, deciding they both needed shelter, began looking for a naturally occurring shield against the snow and wind. At first, his quest was hopeless. There was nothing he could see through the snow. But just as he was about to inform Ludwig about their worsening situation, the young German raised an arm and pointed towards something in the distance,

“There! There is a cave!” 

And much to their relief, what he saw was actually a cave and not a hallucination from his fever. Its entrance was in a snow-covered, mountainous rocky outcrop and it seemed big enough to shelter them from the snow. 

Hurriedly, Misha raced inside and set the shaking Ludwig down some distance into the mouth of the cave. Finally, they were away from the violent winter outside. Ludwig huddled against the cave wall and pressed his burning forehead against the cold stone.

“Oh _Gott…_ ” He muttered. 

Misha took a seat next to him, “Is little man feeling alright?” 

“I just realize now I may have come down with a… a case of pneumonia.” 

“There is refugee safe house close to here. We go to safe house. They will have medicine.” 

Ludwig then said something in German that Misha didn’t recognize, or understand for that matter. But he sounded relieved. Misha pulled out a small loaf of bread from his bag, broke it in half and handed one piece to Ludwig. The German took it with one quivering, pale hand and gratefully began eating. For awhile, the two sat in silence, watching the blinding white landscape outside the cave get covered in more snow as the snowstorm grew into a blizzard. 

Night was already upon them and the storm was not letting up. Ludwig had taken the time to rest up and sleep a little, hoping it would help with his fever. But once he shut his eyes, he was seized with terror. The roar of artillery and gunfire filled his ears like it did a few days ago. He was back in the trench and it was snowing hard. He dragged mangled, bloodied men away from the line of fire, fumbling slightly with the rolls of bandages in his hands in his rush to patch them up. Some of them were beyond saving. Their shrapnel-studded faces stared up at him in fear and despair just as a shell fell into their trench, exploding and piercing many men through the heart. Ludwig felt a flash of pain in his breast before he woke up screaming, bolting up and clutching his chest. 

He was still in the cave. Morning sunlight bathed the cave entrance. For once, he could get a look at the land outside. It was all trees and snow, but the amber light from the sun made the snow glitter. It was surprisingly pretty, and the sight helped to calm the fear in Ludwig’s heart. He sighed, his breath misting in the air, before lying back down and staring at the stone ceiling of the cave. His officers called this shell shock, or combat stress reaction. For every soldier he knew, many a sleepless night was spent going to war with their scarred, broken minds. 

Misha was already awake and was giving Ludwig a concerned look. 

“Little man also gets nightmares when he sleeps?”

“Yes. Combat stress reaction… hah!” Ludwig scoffed, with a bitter laugh, “We go to the front all loyal for the Führer, thinking we are doing right. They say we’ll come back as heroes, but we return as nothing but empty shells! We go as boys, but we don’t return as men!”

When Misha just stared, Ludwig turned away, slightly embarrassed.

“I apologize. I got a bit carried away there.” He said.

“Little man did not talk much. Now you talk more.”

“Certainly. I do feel better after a good rest…” Ludwig was seized with another volley of coughs, “... my temperature has… gone down, at the very… least.”

MIsha nodded, “We leave now. To safe house.” He said, standing up, “Little man can walk?”

“I should be able to manage it.”

* * *

Ludwig was thankful to walk again. Although he discovered he was walking with a slight limp from a bullet graze he hadn’t seen at the side of his ankle. Hopefully, the safe house they were going to had medical supplies. 

To ease the monotony of the journey, he began singing and timing his steps to the tempo. Just like how he and his company would have done when they were marching to raise spirits. Misha recognised what he was doing and joined in with Russian folk songs. Both men were laughing and smiling by the end of it. It was like they were never enemies. 

However, it wasn’t long before Ludwig’s chills returned with a vengeance. He had to steady himself on a tree as he found himself shivering once more. His skin was burning up again soon enough, cold sweat beading on his forehead. But there was something different to this feeling; this time he felt a wave of nausea and the sudden urge to vomit. He suddenly found himself hurling the contents of his stomach out onto the snowy ground.

Coughing, he straightened and called to Misha for help, his voice shaky and hoarse. His companion ran over and carefully picked him up, lifting him like he weighed nothing. 

“You do not walk now. We are almost to safe house.” 

Then, he set off with the smaller man in his arms, moving quicker this time.

But without anything to bring down Ludwig’s fever, he was slowly getting worse. Misha could feel the German’s temperature rising, as well as his body shuddering from repeated coughing. At some point it was like holding a flaming hot coal. Ludwig also hadn’t spoken a word since his fever returned. Now the poor man was deathly pale, which made Misha pick up his pace. 

The day went on - the wind threatening to pick up and turn into another full-blown snowstorm. Ludwig’s condition was deteriorating. He was beginning to lose his mind, rambling on in unintelligible German.

“Hold on, little man!” Misha shouted over the wind, which had started to howl and scream, bringing snow with it.

Amidst the whipping wind and snow, a road came into view. Misha knew it was where they needed to go. Without really thinking, he broke into a run, following the road that he had found. The wind beat him back but he kept going. He could hear Ludwig growing more delirious — crying out repeatedly in his native German dialect. 

For what felt like forever, there was nothing but ice and snow around them. Until Misha saw a wooden cabin in the distance. He stumbled towards the door and slammed a fist against it. In Russian, he screamed for help, banging desperately on the door again and again. 

The door opened and Misha was met by a small blonde woman,

_“I don’t let in soldiers.”_ She said in Russian, looking like she was about to close the door.

_“Wait!”_ Misha jammed a leg in front of the door, _“Please help my friend! He is very sick!”_

The woman took one look at Ludwig and immediately rushed Misha in, ordering him to put the German on the floor near the fireplace,

_“He’s nothing but a boy! A field medic, no less!”_ The woman exclaimed, pulling off Ludwig’s wet coat and jacket and leaving them near the fire to dry. From here, all of Ludwig’s wounds were visible. They were mostly in his back, dried blood staining his crisp white undershirt. 

Misha heaved a sigh of relief. He knew Ludwig was in good hands. 

* * *

The last thing Ludwig remembered was the sensation of a wet cloth being slapped onto his forehead before he passed out from his fever and exhaustion. 

He expected to hear the shriek of artillery again, but heard nothing but peaceful silence and saw darkness. 

Until he was unexpectedly yanked back to the waking world, opening his eyes to the sight of a wooden cabin ceiling. He was without his coat, jacket or shirt, instead feeling the weight of heavy bandages wrapped around his torso. He sat up and rubbed his eyes as footsteps got his attention. 

Misha came into view, still in his Red Army uniform,

“How is little man?” The big Russian said.

“Better. Are we in that safe house you talked about?” 

_“Да.”_

“Good.” Ludwig reached for his shirt, which was nearby to where he was sitting and began putting it on. He noted the round dog tag and the pendant shaped like the Star of David around his neck, both of which had followed him to war and back. Soon, he would be able to run home and see his father again. 

He put on his longcoat and slipped on his boots, standing up and gesturing to Misha.

“We should leave.”

The woman who owned the cabin entered to the sight of the two men preparing to leave,

“Wait. Do not go yet. You, German!” She pointed at Ludwig, “Take this.”

She handed him spare bandages and a small glass bottle of pills, the label on which made him grin: _Penicillin._ He’d heard of this “miracle” drug. The one which could treat Pneumonia, Malaria, Gonorrhea and more. He thanked the woman and pocketed the items just as there was a knock on the door. A voice called out in Russian, joined with the sound of dogs barking. 

Ludwig glanced at Misha. The Russian’s face had turned pale and for the first time, there was a look of absolute terror on his face. 

“What’s wrong, mein freund?” He asked.

“Old comrades of Misha’s. They come to find me and take me away for being traitor.”

Now it was Ludwig’s turn to get scared. If they were caught, he would be tortured and killed. 

The woman was talking to the man at the door, who was peering into the house to look for Misha. Misha and Ludwig stood aside and out of sight, inching their way towards the back door of the cabin. 

They heard the woman scream and the familiar bang of a rifle, then Red Army soldiers stormed in and began searching the place, armed with rifles and large hunting dogs. Now Misha and Ludwig were completely exposed. 

Misha used his large frame to hide Ludwig from view and readied his rifle with whatever ammo he had left, 

“Little man go out of back door. Misha will cover him.” He said, as the soldiers began to close in on them. 

Ludwig pulled out a small pistol, shaking his head,

  
  
“I will not let them get you.” He said, “They will not kill you under my watch.”

“No. Little man must run! Go West to next town!” Misha pushed him out of the back door and began firing back into the house at the Red Army men inside. One of them appeared from behind the small cabin with a snarling dog and tore after Ludwig, who had started running.

The dog was fast. It was already catching up to him and snapping at his heels. Ludwig fired in the hound’s direction and missed, then was met with the unfortunate click of an empty barrel. Cursing, he flung the useless hunk of metal at the dog, this time hitting it square between the eyes and knocking it out. The dog’s handler had caught up with him with a loaded rifle, but was struggling to operate the gun’s bolt action system. 

Seeing his chance, Ludwig unsheathed his trench knife and lunged at the man, burying the blade into his throat. The force of the hit sent the rifle spinning out of the man’s grip. Stumbling up from the floor, he kept running West as Misha had instructed. Looking back at the house, he couldn’t see Misha in the back doorway anymore.

He knew then that he may never see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will hopefully be out tomorrow (or today if I can make it)!


	3. Epilogue, 1968

_ So, did Ludwig make it home? _

_ Is Misha still alive? _

_ Well... _

_ Misha was put into one of the many Gulags in Russia with his family. His father, a famous counter-revolutionary, was killed in said Gulag. Taking it upon themselves, Misha, his mother and his 3 younger sisters escaped their prison, sending the Gulag burning to the ground with every guard dead. With nowhere else to go, Misha and his family retreated into the mountains of Siberia, where they live in fear that the Soviet government will find them someday.  _

_ In 1968, Misha was offered a high-paying job in North America by the megacompany, TF Industries. _

_ Ludwig actually did make it back to Germany. He went back to school, got up to drunken stupidity on campus involving a van and some doves, studied medicine and graduated with a degree. He became a doctor and qualified surgeon, found a wife and settled down. Years after, he was fired from his position and had his medical license confiscated after an experimental fiasco with a skeleton.  _

_ Now, it’s 1968 and Ludwig (or just Dr. Humboldt), migrates to America with his wife and son. He gets a job as a field medic in New Mexico. _

_ This is his first day on the job. _

* * *

The woman who had introduced herself as Miss Pauling sat herself down opposite him and was bombarding him with questions. Things like whether he had studied medicine and had combat experience were both a yes, while things like whether he had taken the Hippocratic Oath, whether he still had a license to practice and whether he adheres to the Geneva Conventions were… questionable. 

“So… you say you have done research. What have you done exactly?”

“Well…” Ludwig pushed up the steel-rimmed glasses on his face and brought out a file overflowing with papers from the worn doctor’s bag he carried, “All this.” 

Miss Pauling took the file and flipped through it, nodding occasionally. 

“It’s an impressive resume, Dr. Humboldt.” She handed the file back to him, “I think you’re pretty capable. You’re hired.”

“Oh? That’s good to hear.” Ludwig said.

Miss Pauling stood up and said, “Great! Let’s go. Your uniform will be in your room at base.”

* * *

“I didn’t think we’d be expecting pets.”

“My doves are very clean if that means anything?” Ludwig said, opening the small carrier and letting his doves out to fly around his new clinic. 

“You know what? We’re going to cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?” Miss Pauling pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed her temples, “Let’s go meet the team.”   
  


As Ludwig left once more into the maze of similar hallways which made up his new workplace, his favourite dove, Archimedes fluttered out of the clinic’s doors and perched contentedly on his shoulder, cooing softly. Smiling, he stroked the little white bird’s head. 

He followed Miss Pauling to a small break room where 8 men were waiting. They all stared at their new teammate, curious and slightly wary. Ludwig just stared back, taking note of each of their physiques for any potential… experiments later on. Among them were a slim, athletic lad who looked like he ran a lot, a man in a ski mask whose body type Ludwig found difficult to define much at all and one bald giant of a man who towered over everyone else in the room…

Wait.

His eyes met that of the giant in the room and a flash of recognition crossed both their faces. 

“Misha? Is that you?” Ludwig said, unable to stop himself.

Next thing he realised, he was lifted a foot off the ground as a now older Misha pulled him into a bear hug, laughing. Ludwig was crying, unable to contain his joy. A million questions rushed forward into the light and came spilling out of his mouth, some in sputters of German. Archimedes fluttered away from his shoulder and curiously settled on Misha’s head, seemingly sensing his master’s connection to this stranger. 

After they both calmed down for a bit, Misha set his old friend on the floor and noticed the little dove on his head. He let Archimedes hop onto one giant finger and lowered him to his eye level to get a closer look.

“Little man is doktor now?” He said.

“Well, I’ve always been a doctor in some way.” Ludwig grinned, “However, you can say that I am a… “certified” doctor now.”

“Then Misha will call little man ‘Doktor’ now.”

Ludwig’s smile only grew wider. His happiness was overwhelming. He wiped at his still-watery eyes with his sleeve as Archimedes flew back to sit on his shoulder, cooing. 

“Ah! It has been so long since the war, hasn’t it?” He said, partially to himself and to no one in particular.

“How did you guys meet up?” He heard Miss Pauling say. He’d forgotten that there were other people in the room with him. He’d been too wrapped up in his emotions to notice. 

“Well, Miss Pauling…” He said, “It’s a very long story…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. Now I headcanon Medic and Heavy as WWII vet bros.


End file.
